I waited until the temperature got closer to above freezing, then put on my layers and made it out into the snow. There is nothing like it.
Everything is quieter when running in the snow. Even your footsteps are muffled.
Everything looks cleaner when covered in white, today the snow clung to all the branches of the trees making them look like tall snowmen.
There is a peace in running outside your element, in changing your gate because you are slipping a little bit, and pulling off the gator taking a deep breath of the cold, moist air.
I found gratitude in this run because as my feet hit the trail, I thought of those who could not run. I thought of a few Thanksgivings back when I wondered why my mother couldn't keep up on our "walks" like she used to, both of us trudging through the snow. She had surgery two weeks later finding out there was a brain tumor, so yes, her gate had changed, she was dragging a foot. I remember talking during that walk, about nothing in particular, but the snow made our conversation sound like the only thing on that street, muffling out all the normal noises so we just heard each other. We walked the morning before the busy Thanksgiving holiday, enjoying the quiet, the solitude of doing what everyone else in the house thought was crazy.
As I started up my hill, I thought about how thankful I am for my health. That I can get out in the craziest of weather and still exercise and love it. That I may be getting older and much of my times are getting slower, but I am moving to the point of just getting out there means I won.
My thoughtful gratitude was interrupted when a pickup truck slowed down and stopped next to me as I was climbing the hill.
"Are you all right?" A little old man asked from the pickup truck.
I look at him, "Yes, I'm just running."
And it occurred to me that either I was:
A. Crazy for running out in this weather, or
B. I really did look that bad running up that hill.
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